


All I Need is a Little Augmented Shore Leave

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [30]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek: The Original Series, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluffy, Other, Some of the strangest cunnilingus I've ever written and that's saying something, Strangest hand job - if you can call it that - that I've written too, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-16 23:52:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16963839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: In the midst of a boring survey mission searching for a missing ship, the Bakerstreet encounters a mysterious planet where every fantasy appears to come true.





	1. Greg Lestrade's POV

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a shore leave to break up the narrative darkness. 
> 
> John is 32. He and Sherlock have known each other for 12 years. 
> 
> The Bakerstreet is 11 years old, which is 1 year past it's originally defined retirement date.
> 
>  
> 
> Based off the movie, the Star Trek, episode Shore Leave. Also, as you will soon see the plot of the movie version of the Hobbit movies, but as if John and Sherlock were on a pleasure planet getting to "enjoy" those events. Also, referenced Don Juan (various) and Arthurian stories (various)  
> If there are quotes, they are from there. If I have failed to attribute, let me know and I'll add it here.

Greg sighed wearily and adjusted the fedora on his head.

He'd enjoyed hard boiled detective novels once.

He could be on a vineyard in the south of France reading a detective novel.

But no, he was living one. His ex-wife had told him he worked too hard. Didn't know when to take a break. She still told him that, all told. He wished he could see her laughing at him just then. 

Instead, he went to the lunk guarding the door of the Coppa and said, "I'm here to see Jimmy the Deuce.

The times he'd tried to stay out of game play had not gone well. So, there he was at the Coppa. Questioning a weasel about a dame with legs up to the sky and a secret that he knew all too well by now.

Or course, he really wasn't expecting to see the Roman Colosseum torches blazing away in the distance when he went up to the roof of the Coppa. It was something new so he went for it.


	2. John's POV

John put the used plates in the replicator. Green this evening. He liked the green plates. Pretty Greek key pattern along the rim. He returned them to nothing more than energy. He liked the green, but he might change the auto settings to the blue Delft pattern later. 

Told himself he was stalling.

Sherlock looked at him nervously. No doubt detecting a thousand signs from John that something was up. But unlike previous points in their relationship, he didn't jump to head John off. Simply waited for what John had to say.

John took Sherlock's hands. More stalling. "I'm ready."

Sherlock blinked at him. "I'm afraid I'll need more context."

Deep breath. "I'm ready to have kids. I want to try for kids." 

Sherlock blinked at him. That big twisty brain of his whiring and roaring behind those windows to his soul eyes, and John was pretty sure every single room in the mind palace was blazing. That the ships in the inner sea were firing cannons and pirates were shouting or what not. At least he hoped so.

When Sherlock finally stirred back into motion, he gathered John up in his arms and John knew it with every fiber of his body. The thousand or so kisses were a pretty good clue too.

Course after, there was the discussion of just how. 

Sherlock looked at him dubiously. "I presume you know by now how it occurs."

John swatted his arm. "Yes I do know. I mean, my average heat produces thirteen ovum and while with a good deal of work I can keep it down to two or three that's not a guarantee. But I'm thinking one kid." John didn't say that thirteen couldn't possibly survive gestation and it would break both their hearts if they had to consciously live through that. As it was, he had a vague memory of sorrow from their time in the Breen past. There were ways to figure out just how many he'd lost. 

John had never tried.

"Two children," said Sherlock after a visit to the mind palace. John bet there were fireworks going on just then.

Since John had only said one to get two, he said, "Two it is. But to do that, we'll probably need to," he waved at the Utero Transporter and the box under the bed, "remove a few of the fertilized ovum to a holo cube, leave just two."

"So are you going off suppressors?" Sherlock looked a little too eager. Not that John blamed him. For once they could have guilt free fun from his heat.

John laughed. "Please, half the time they stop working on their own. Let's… just see what happens."

"But," Sherlock's voice was soft and low. "How will we chose which ones to keep and which ones to save?"

John had already thought that part through. "We won't. We'll set the device to randomize and pick for us. I don't think," he kissed Sherlock's hands, "either of us wants to have to make that kind of decision."

"Do you…" Sherlock looked very serious. Serious conversation. "There's a way to do this without... machines that can do this for you. If you want that?" Sherlock's cheeks were pink. His eyes shining. Just asking to be snogged.

John snogged him for all he was worth. How could he not? When he finally stopped, he said, "Sherlock, what in anything I've ever said meant I want to use a machine for this. I want our kids to hear my heartbeat as they grow. Listen to me sing badly. Kick my kidneys when they want to run." He pulled Sherlock's hands down to rest on his flat belly. "I want you to feel what you helped put inside me right here and I want to share that with you."

Sherlock was a bit teary eyed, which was fair. John had his share of tears too.


	3. Sherlock's POV

"The USS Stargazer disappeared somewhere in the Omicron Delta region," said Hudson. "No distress signal was sent out, but obviously Starfleet doesn't like it when ships disappear. Our old friend Commodore Lestrade was in command."

Sherlock had no reason to expect that what would then follow were the three dullest and most boring months of searching in the region. They found no ship. No debris. No black boxes. No escape pods. No mysterious entities. No anomalies.

Nothing.

Nothing to do but think.

Think about John just going off suppressants. There was certainly time.

Think about what incident would be the one to trigger his heat. What story John would tell their children - two little children with John's smiling blue eyes and blond hair and faces tilted up to Sherlock's while he explained why stars twinkle - about how they'd been created. Minus the more salacious details, of course.

Think about the other Sherlock in the other dimension and how could reproducing possibly be a good idea given what he now knew about what he was capable of. If the universe had gone a different way. 

What if he were a terrible parent, because the other him had sounded terrible? 

What if he was possessive like the other Sherlock? And strangled John's love? Or neglected their children? Or forgot them?

What if his parents were one step away from some sort of attack on the Federation? What if he lost the Bakerstreet? He could sometimes see Donovan looking at him. Sh'Alaack looking at him. What if he really was as horrible as the other him? 

What if they had children and had to flee in the night? What if they brought children into a world of horrors? What if he was one of those horrors?

What if? If. If. If.

By the third planetary system, Sherlock was ready to start firing a phaser at the walls of the ready room.

A phaser that John took out of his hands and said, "Next M class planet that looks decent, we're taking shore leave."

"I don't require shore leave," said Sherlock glaring at his husband, who had deprived him of a vital piece of equipment when his brain was leaking out of his head. Tearing itself apart. A matter-antimatter engine with no matter in it. Only anti. Who must surely be driving away the one they wanted most to stay close and how could John possibly want to reproduce with Sherlock. How?

"You just about blew a - thankfully interior and shielded for just that reason - hole in the wall of your ready room, so I'd say that you do need to take shore leave. And you are going to do it."

Sherlock crossed his arms and turned his face into the wall and wouldn't turn around until John joined him in his chair. Dragging his fingers through the tangling locks of hair over Sherlock's tearing itself apart mind. "I don't need to take shore leave. Shore leave is boring," muttered Sherlock against John's chest.

"I need to take shore leave. There's been nothing for me to do on this ship for three months." A small butterfly of a kiss on the top of Sherlock's head. John's scent lovely and enticing as always. He squirmed around and hummed to see if he could find John's lips by echo location. "I guess, if you won't come with me, I'll just have to go without you."

If he went without Sherlock, John would probably get kidnapped or sent to an alternative dimension. Sherlock's lips landed on the curve of John's neck. Sherlock bit down to let John that he was not beaming down to a planet without Sherlock.

John chuckled. Then gasped. A sharp high sound as Sherlock's teeth kept twisting to test the tensile strength of John's skin, which of course, required removing John's shirt. 

For science. 

Sherlock tested John's nipples. His mammary tissue there. It was necessary to taste each area for tensile strength. Applying suction was another valid test.

It was also necessary that there be a control. John conducted that part of the experiment by removing Sherlock's shirt and carrying out the same set of experiments on Sherlock. Because of Sherlock's much higher healing factors, this meant that when they moved to stand by the wide window looking out into space that Sherlock's skin was pale and unmarked, while John was covered in bright red bite and suction marks. Sherlock recorded every instant for later identification of the exact color spectrum of each mark.

It was vital that Sherlock conduct the same experiment on the lower half of John's body. Taking care to be thorough while examining his calves and thighs. Taking tender care while sucking. Examining. 

John came during this experiment, but that was to be expected.

Sherlock did not come while John conducted the control experiment group, but that was because John would be in tremendous pain after the endorphins released by sex wore off. 

So, as a conscientious and ethical scientist, it was necessary wrap John's legs around him and hold him up against the window with the void of space just on the other side. It was vital that he thrust inside John, pushing him against that window. It was not dissimilar to shooting a phaser at the void. Except in this case, he came with a shout inside John rather than possibly opening a hole in the hull and possibly decompressing himself into that void.

He held John for long minutes afterwards while their breathing eased. John's skin had healed considerably by the time Sherlock opened his eyes. Not entirely. They would need to reapply the treatment. Later perhaps. 

As an ethical scientist, he must cause his subject no pain.

John said, "You're deleting that Captain's log you were making that entire time."

Sherlock snorted, because he absolutely was not deleting that log. It had vital information about his observations during the experiment.

"At least transfer it to your private log, yeah."

Sherlock shrugged and nuzzled the remaining injuries on John, who laughed and twisted around, putting his clothes on. Leaving Sherlock to slump back into his chair. Loose and relaxed, with at least some sort of experiment to think about.

John went to the door, which opened onto the bridge, which had been playing loud classical Betazed melodies for the last hour, and possibly they could have turned on the privacy shield. 

John toddled forward in a very loose wide legged way and Sherlock smiled. He had been very vigorous in the application of his ethical concern for his subject. "We're going on shore leave," said John.

There was a woop from Winters and a mild, "Good," from Hudson. The rest was cut off as John toddled one leg and then the other forward, and the door closed behind him.

Irrelevant. Sherlock needed to identify the exact color spectrum for each of John's bruises and suction marks. 

By then, an M class planet had been identified. A dull boring M class planet with no identified lifeforms, but a planet.

John and Sherlock beamed down with the third team on shore leave. Winters and Hunter, the later of which was wearing a recording rig on her head. Her habit on visiting unexplored worlds for years so she could share the experience with Julian later.

Soon enough, they split up. Winters and Hunter opting to explore down by a wide lake and Sherlock wanting to climb up into the hills.

As he and John explored the rolling green hills, they came upon a series of doors set into the rounded hills. John laughed. "It's Hobbiton. I was just thinking this reminded me of the Lord of the Rings and, here it is." That meant nothing to Sherlock, but he was interested in viewing the round windows and round doors set into the hillsides. Since no lifeforms had been identified on the planet, any sort of village was unexpected to say the least. Only one home appeared to have any activity. A house at the top of the hill under a wide tree. Smoke was coming from the chimney. 

John tried the door. It was locked, but John wiggled his eyebrows in a very charming way, utterly charming. Sherlock was charmed. When John picked the lock and had the door open, he poked his head and then the rest of him inside. "Hello? Anyone there?"

Sherlock had to duck to get inside the door, as he was taller than John.

"Bagsend," whispered John. "Exactly as I'd pictured it." The interior was very cozy. Lined with books and maps and small objects on every surface. 

Inside the office, which overlooked the valley with the houses tucked into the hills, Trelane was sitting in an overstuffed chair puffing on a pipe and wearing what for him was the simple attire of mid-eighteenth century tweeds. Sherlock groaned, because this was far too simple an explanation. He'd hoped for some form of mystery as to why a human book would suddenly appear on an alien planet. "What are you doing here?"

Trelane rocked his chair back. "I've run away from home."

"So… still pining over that mysterious someone are you?" asked John.

"Sometimes, you are so linear. I've not found the one I'm meant to be with, but if I came to see you that must mean eventually my Belle Dame sans merci is waiting. What are they like? Corporeal?" Trelane's pipe produced a ring of sparkling smoke. He looked hopeful. 

"No idea. We didn't get that far. So, um...you made Hobbiton," said John. "Because you've run away from home."

"Oh, I didn't make this," said Trelane. "You made this. I came here to hide because the people who made this planet made it very hard to see unless you're right on top of it. What happens on Shore Leave planet, stays on Shore Leave planet." He winked out of view.

Sherlock pulled out a tricorder and examined the book shelf in front of him. The readings said that the shelves were English oak and the paper from the books was wood pulp. "We should cancel shore leave and set teams to explore what Trelane meant."

"Not," said John firmly, "before I get to look around Bagsend."

Sherlock had not read the books, but he was not unwilling to explore. As long as John stayed nearby.

A glint of something caught Sherlock's eye in the fireplace. He sifted the wood coals with an iron poker until he found a gem glinting in smoldering embers. The tongs were not the best tool for pulling it out. He needed to pull it out. He needed to have the gem. He needed it. It would hold off the void eating at his brain. Hold off the ifs. 

He knew this with an absolute certainty that exploded as he picked up the gem – cold to the touch – infinitely cold. 

A cold void that pulled him into its nothingness.


	4. Violet Hunter's POV

Violet was examining giant rabbit footprints when Winters screamed. Violet ran through the copse of trees into the shady glen full of flowers. A man in sixteenth century clothing was trying to rip Winter's uniform off her shoulder. Hunter fired her phaser at him to no effect. As in no energy came out. Although, boxing his ears in a sharp slap had him turning. "Zee voman is mine," he said in a very twentieth century Hollywood stereotype of a Human of Hispanic descent.

"Yeah, no," said Violet.

The man drew a bejeweled rapier. "Zen I vill fight you and I vill have my vicked vay vith twoo beautivul vomen."

He was holding the rapier all wrong. More like something out of a movie than an actual fencer.

It had been over ten years since Violet had been on the varsity fencing team, but she and Julian fenced time to time. For some reason, and Violet wasn't going to question it just then, there was a fencing saber propped up against a tree, so she grabbed it.

She settled into fencing position, squared on her slightly bent legs and twisted to present a profile. She tried not to think, and therefore telegraph her move. Go on instinct and muscle memory. She lunged, swirling her blade around his, taking advantage of his bad hold to send it flying down a short drop. She thought, "That was easy."

He laughed and did a backflip, which had her thinking of nothing so much as  _ The Princess Bride _ . He said, "You're very good you know."

"Well, I have studied the Hungarian," which wasn't the right line, but truer to the actual facts.

"Ah, but I hef alwavs found the Main Gauche is thee proper counter to thee Hungarian," and Violet could have groaned as Don Juan here, with his shifting accent, pulled out a short jeweled dagger that was the twin of his fancy rapier.

Donny Juan made a flying lunge at her, feet crossing over as he extended, which would have been so illegal in an actual fencing match, and she narrowly avoided getting skewered with the dagger with a one handed drop to the ground under his blades and thrust upward.

He said, "I counter your Passata Sotto with a little Paso Dobles," and he actually did do several steps of a Paso Dobles dance that had her rolling backwards and doing her own back flip to get back onto her feet. His fencing had suddenly gotten about ten times better. Violet said, "Winters, a little help."

"I don't know how to fight with swords," said Winters.

Violet parried four, and reposted with a short rapid series of attacks on his longer blade. "You can pick up a stick and hit him with it."

"Twoo against one," said Don Juan. "But ma loves, I only vish to ravish you. You should be fighting each other for the opportunity to feel my many inches of Toledo steel."

Winters finally snapped out of it and swung a tree branch at his head while Violet continued to attack.

Donny Juan finally got the message and took off into the thicket.

"What just happened?" said Violet breathing heavily. Suddenly aware that she'd been fencing without padding or a helmet or anything.

"I was just admiring the meadow," said Winters, and I was thinking the only thing that was lacking was a Don Juan.

"And then he appeared," said Violet. "While I was thinking about how very Alice and Wonderland this is and..."

On cue, a giant White Rabbit in a brocade vest hopped into the meadow looking at his large shiny watch. "I'm late. I'm late." He hopped out of view.

They could have chased him, but this was the point when Violet really needed to call up to the ship. "Bakerstreet." There was no response. Winters' com didn't work any better. She back tracked on the recording on her rig, and they hadn't been having a shared hallucination. Unless they were both still seeing it. Same as the talking trees. Same as seeing Vi. 

There was a rustling sound and a knight in black armor rode into the meadow. A white knight rode in from the other side. They immediately began to fight.

"We need to take shelter," said Violet.

"How about up there?" asked Winters. She pointed at a white shining castle with bright blue roofed towers and bright red pennants snapping in the breeze. It had not been there about five minutes before.

Given everything Violet knew about the middle ages, dysentery, short life spans, and so on, this was probably a bad idea. But all things considered, it was better than being trampled by the black and white knights.

They set off for the castle.


	5. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock stretched. Arched his body and rolled around on shifting metal. Felt a long tail slide over objects. Coins.

He paused in mid-stretch. He did not normally have a tail. He did not normally have wide wings capable of beating the air. Capable of tearing air apart. He could not normally exhale streams of fire. He could not normally taste gold. Sweet gold. Lovely gold. Beautiful gems. One gem queen among them all.

He didn't normally shift on his back and squirm in metal. Sending coins flying with flicks of his tail. They fell like a delightful rain upon his belly.

He was not normally a dragon.

Naturally, he needed to explore this state. The wide caverns in which he found himself were full of abandoned halls. Abandoned statues. Lots of gold. And all of it his.

None of it making him happy. He was missing something. He couldn't quite remember what it was.

He couldn't quite remember why he'd thought it was odd that he was a dragon.

He was a great old wyrm and always had been. Terrible and terrifying to behold. Hatched from a wicked egg in the heart of the foul pits of Angband. He swarmed up the high columns of his home in Lonely Mountain and the wide opening that he had once carved for himself to come in. He launched into the air. A flying fire drake that sent screams of terror echoing through the little town perched on the waters.

He yelled down at the screaming town folk, "I am Sherlock the Indestructible. When the age was young, and I was tender, I fought heroes and destroyed empires." That seemed about right. 

They screamed. A mighty black arrow was fired, but all it did was bounce off the golden armor of his wealth embedded over his already mighty scales. It would be infinitely easy to open his mouth and eradicate the town. Destroy it utterly.

Would that make him happy? He was evil and everyone knew that now.

Now? He was incalculably old. He must have meant forever.

He scented gold. That would make him happy. More gold. He ripped off the roof of one of the buildings and gathered up the boxes of treasure in his forearms.

He had forearms and legs and wings, which meant he had six limbs and a tail, which briefly, ever so briefly, confused him. But there was gold and he could take it with him back to Lonely Mountain. He licked it, but it didn't make him happy.

Nothing ever would. 


	6. John's POV

One hour into the adventure with the dwarves and they'd managed to be captured by some trolls.

Some very culinary trolls, who argued over how best to cook John and his fellow band of adventurers. After he gently suggested that Oakenshield should let John handle this, John talked the trolls into letting him go so he could point out some wild onions he'd spotted. Which then led to remembering where there was some wild asparagus, and of course some dandelions. Can't have dwarf and hobbit stew without dandelion heads. And of course, some nice mushroom broth.

John did have some idea which mushrooms were good and which ones were bad. Not that he'd ever gone mushrooming on Earth, but there had been a lot of courses on stupid things troops ate and would need cures for.

Trolls, it would seem, didn't fare any better drinking poison mushroom broth than anyone else, and were soon busing vomiting veg, while John cut the bonds on the dwarves with a very nice little blade that had been among the troll's belongings.

"A clever escape," said Oakenshield, putting his arm around John and squeezing. "Very clever." 

Oakenshield's attempt – thankfully – to put an oaken move on John was interrupted by Gandalf. "What have you all been doing? Never mind, we'll have dinner with my Lord Elrond." Which was how John ended up in Rivendell wanting to do nothing but leave. Sherlock was somewhere and John needed to get to him and the most likely place was at the end of this adventure.

"In such a rush," said Gandalf puffing rings on that pipe of his. John coughed, never really having thought through the burning tobacco and inhaling a toxic substance willingly portion of the books. "We need to rest and provision with Elrond. Learn what he has to teach us."

John could not for the life of him remember how this part of the book went. Exhausted from his adventures, he found himself falling asleep.

He was shaken awake by Oakenshield. "Time to go, thief."

They set off down a trail through some mountains that were certainly very misty. Very dark. The trek went on for it seemed like days. Everything was a bit fuzzy. John would walk and walk and walk. Eat and walk and sleep and walk again.

He lost hope of reaching any place any time soon. There would always be clouds and mist.

In the midst of these dark thoughts, two of the dwarves came back shouting. "We've found a cave. Good dwarven marks on it. Must be a way through. Much better than climbing these mountains."

"Is it still occupied by dwarves," said Gandalf.

"Must be," said the dwarves. "Dwarves carved it. Must still be full of good dwarves."

Gandalf shook his head in disbelief, but didn't stop them from choosing to go through the caves. John vaguely remembered this bit was important. So he agreed when the vote was made.

But given the dripping, dank, stench, it was soon clear that this wasn't a dwarven home. Still they'd committed. So they made damp and dripping camp in a high narrow cavern. John fell into a fitful sleep. He woke just in time to see goblins swarming down the cavern walls, just as far as the firelight reached.

"Goblins!" His shout was just enough to wake Gandalf, who cracked the stone with his wizard's staff. A bright light shown, sending the goblins scampering back into the dark.

"That won't hold them for long," yelled Gandalf. They ran down the tunnel and into the next gallery, a wide open echoing sort of space. There were several railroad carts on a rickety looking track. "Everyone in," said Gandalf.

John climbed in dubiously. Gravity soon had the carts racing down the track. Past goblins and giant stone monsters and what have you. It also had the track creaking and swaying, and just as John, in the last cart, came to a particularly wide arch over a rushing underground stream, the track broke. John flailed, trying to grab onto anything. He saw Gandalf grab a dwarf as John fell backwards into the freezing cold water.

He held his breath and let the current carry him while he got his bearings. Putting his strength into going sideways to the current, not against it. He wasn't as strong as a river. It tumbled him down a waterfall and into a wide underground lake.

He managed to heave himself out of the frigid waters up on a narrow muddy beach in a dark cave. He lay there just breathing for a bit, when he noticed that his trousers appeared to be glowing. He pulled out the small sword he'd gotten from the trolls and sure enough, the blade emitting a soft light.

It was only briefly a relief to have some light, when a very disturbed sounding voice says, "It's trying to steal my precious it is. Well, it won't, because I'm too tricksssy for it."

John held up the blade, which illuminated a skinny naked creature climbing out of a narrow boat, which meant that he was at the bit of the story with Gollum.

Gollum said, "What'sss it hasss in itsss handsss, a blade what come from Gondolin. An Elven ssspecial blade. I wantsss it. Maybe itss willing to play sssome riddlesss. If I win I getsss the shiny elven blade."

"Sure," said John, who had about as much intention of letting go of this blade as he did jumping back in the freezing cold lake. "And if I win, you show me how to get out of here."

"Yessss. I'll go firssst. What has roots as nobody sssseesss, is taller than treessss. Up and up it goes, and yet never growssss?"

"You do realize that tectonic plate action means that mountains actually do grow, right?" asked John. Which then led to John explaining plate tectonics to Gollum in an underground cavern. He pointed out the sedimentary layers that the river had carved through the rock. The fish embedded in the limestone, which reminded him of a riddle about fish.

It took Gollum no time at all to figure out the answer, but Gollum's next riddle was about teeth, which, "That's very species centric," said John, who while not a dentist did have to deal with a good deal of dental care on board the Bakerstreet. He was just glad that Julian had a dental hygienist algorithm.

"You don't know the anssswer?" asked Gollum coming closer.

"No, it's teeth. I mean you don't have thirty teeth. You have at most six. And there are many species with more or less. We really shouldn't be doing riddles that behave as if there are only Humans in what is clearly a multi species environment. Here now, my turn. What do I have in my pocket?"

Gollum made three very wrong guesses. "Hmm…. Itsss right, we shouldn'tesss. Oh," Gollum clutched his head. "My headsss hurt. I need my preciousss. My birthday present."

They got into the small boat and rowed across to an island. Gollum scampered out of the boat and over a small muddy rise. John jumped out at the same time. Somewhere on this island was the one true ring, which since he hadn't found it yet, was bound to be right at his feet. He picked it up, just as Gollum screeched, "Precious is gone."

John put the ring on and then pushed the boat out into the water. He let it drift on the current. His sword hidden so there was no light. Just drifting in the darkness listening to the ever receding screams of Gollum.


	7. Martha Hudson's POV

Martha did not want to give the order, but she had to. For the last week, they'd been trying to mount rescue missions to the planet. Transporters fizzled. Shuttles couldn't lift off. 

All the while the planet was doing something to drain the ship of energy. The Bakerstreet pulled away from the planet, putting the system's star between the ship and the Bakerstreet.

Minus about half the crew.

"Still think sending everyone down for shore leave was a great idea?" asked Donovan with crossed arms.

"You were happy enough to get the two of them off the ship," said Martha.

"I'm happy not to have to hear the love birds going at it," said Donovan. "But we should have done an adequate survey first."

"Let's put that behind us now," said Martha. She called down to engineering, "Have we been able to come up with a way to scan the planet without getting drained."

"I believe so," said Sh'Alaack. "Passive mirroring. We'll have some drones place mirror arrays that don't use any power to relay the scans to the planet and back. If we can identify where everyone went, maybe we can get them back."

"A lovely idea," said Trelane, suddenly sitting in the seat next to Martha, who did not jump or any of the other things she might have done. This was not the first time this had happened.

Martha sighed, but on the inside. "Dear, are you the one who is doing this to our crew?"

"No, this isn't me. Why does everyone jump to the conclusion that it's me," said Trelane, who was wearing a purple smoking jacket and sipping something from a tall ceramic mug that looked like some sort of growling head with a small umbrella embedded in some fruit stuck on one side. "This is a holiday world full of wonders and delights. Maybe when I was merely a child, I'd have interfered in others pleasures, but I've looked in the glass but darkly and seen myself face to face. Understand what it is to put others first."

"Is our crew is in danger?"

"They'll be fine. I came from the party when I heard my parents calling. But where are my manners. While our friends are relaxing, you haven't gotten to enjoy a refreshment." Suddenly, Martha was holding a mug with its own gaudy set of fruit and umbrellas. She took a tentative sip and found that it contained a great deal of rum.

"Are you old enough to drink this?" asked Martha.

"I'm a galactic age, non-corporeal, and mine only has fruit juice," said Trelane taking another dignified sip.

"Trelane," boomed a loud voice. "You know you're still grounded for flooding multiple realities with black butterflies."

Trelane stood up. "Mother! Why must you embarrass me in front of my friends?"

Another voice said, "I've just spent three millennium cleaning up your mess. Grounded does not mean goofing off with your friends on a pleasure planet. You get back to the Continuum right now."

"Mom! Dad! Please!" Trelane clutched at his drink. 

"One!" said the voice. "Two. Don't make me say three."

Trelane disappeared.

Martha sighed. "You were saying about mirrors, Sh'Alaack."


	8. Violet Hunter's POV

The problem between Winters' romantic ideals of an Arthurian castle and Violet's historical knowledge about how nasty life was in medieval times, meant they had a very odd time at King Arthur's court.

One part Monty Python. One part Excalibur. One part Doomsday book. The one about the black plague. Not the one that listed chickens and cows. Although, there was a fair amount of chickens and cows, too.

To show up to the court, was… probably Winters fantasy, was to be made a lady-in-waiting to queen Gwen. 

Winters somehow got sucked into a love triangle between Yvain and Gawain full of passionate declarations. Pining. Jealousy. Stalking. Fights. Jousts. Quests. More stalking. 

Violet kicked Gawain - although it might have been Yvain - out of their drafty rooms trying to steal a slipper.

Violet pinched the bridge of her nose. "Winters!"

"Why don't you call me Kitty," Winters flushed. "That's my first name. We've worked together for years. I know you were really close to the other helmsperson, but… she'd been gone a long time and I'm here now." In a smaller voice, "Maybe we can use first names."

Violet sighed, because that was fair. Just because she had never clicked with Winters, Kitty, no reason not to try. "You're right. I haven't really been fair."

"No, you haven't," said Winters with some dignity. Broken when she grinned. "Now let's watch go them joust over the slipper thing."

"Kitty, you do understand that as they fight over you, the people they actually interacting with is each other. It's call homosocial relationships and medieval romances are lousy with them. You could be a rose for all they really care about you. When they're jealous about you, it's not about you the person. What am I saying they're not..." stopped herself right there. Rig running and she didn't want to say anything that could hurt Julian. Not like that.

He could be hurt. She'd given him that ability. Even if she didn't remember quite how. 

Even if sometimes she wondered if she was making the right call. 

If she shouldn't want something a bit more based on medieval ideas of romance. Which technically had involved creating an entire literary tradition about infidelity to get over the part where the woman didn't get to make the decision as to who she married, and was really about the transfer of tracts of land. Which was where the Monty Python bits kept coming up.

Kitty flushed. "It's easy for you. You've got a relationship."

"You think being in a relationship with Julian is easy." The number of looks from new crew. Old crew. Shore leave when shore leave wasn't a fantasy planet. Judgements. 

It was why she hadn't messaged Vi. She wasn't sure if she wanted to deal with that.

Kitty snorted. "You have the perfect relationship."

"I think you're talking about Holmes and Watson."

"Yeah, they're very…" Winters widened her eyes, tossed her hair over one and then the other shoulder, and waggled her fingers in the air, "but you seem so comfortable."

"That's not generally considered a good thing."

"I imagined a Don Juan and got an attempted rapist. I end up in King Arthur's court, which is dreamy, and I like the boys, but," she shrugged, "my mother says I should want something like you have."

"Really." Violet had trouble imagining that. "Wait, you talk about me with your mother?"

Winters tapped her forehead. "Drama magnet. I need to talk to her about someone who isn't me." 

"I haven't noticed anything."

"We sit next to Captain Holmes and Doctor Watson on the bridge. They suck all the drama out of the room. Trust me, this," she waved at the joust, "is how things go for me."

"Okay. Well, then... " Violet sat back in her divan. "Enjoy the scenery. I'll watch your back.."

"Thank you," Kitty smiled. "Have you seen Yvain toss his hair when he takes off his helm? It's like a lion's mane."

Which kicked off the adventure of the knight and the lion, which had Violet really regretting being as well read as she was. 

Until she remembered that she'd read the Romance of Silence, which was how she got to become a knight of the round table, slay a wyvern, and capture Merlin, who could be captured by no man.

When her gender was revealed, Violet looked at Arthur. "Seriously, I haven't been hiding that I'm a woman."

"I think it's your breastplate," said Winters seriously. "No boobies."

Violet looked down at her sensible flat breastplate whose design both covered her whole upper body and wouldn't have enemy swords sliding down metal breasts towards her heart. Winters was by now wearing a low cut floaty velvet and gauze thing that had never seen the inside of medieval wardrobe. 

Violet said dryly, "I think we've established we have very different fantasies."

"Not really," said Winters. "We're both having a medieval adventure. Thank you, dear," she told Yvain who'd brought her a turkey leg. "We both have a good time on the Bakerstreet. My friends keep telling me it's a dead end ship past due for retirement, but," she wave the leg, "on what other ship would I end up with not one, but two handsome knights… Thank you, dear, put it on the table," she told Gawain who'd brought her a joint of venison. "Uh, what was I saying?"  

"That we're not that dissimilar," said Violet, who explained to Arthur that yes, she was a woman dressed as a knight. That didn't mean she was dressed as a man. Knight was a gender neutral descriptor for a warrior on horseback. Fortunately Merlin backed her up.

She could get used to this fantasy, but she hoped she wouldn't have to.

She really wanted to share it with Julian.

Maybe send Vi a vid message rubbing in what a good time she was having. What were friends for.

So, thinking, she told Gawain, "You know I don't think Lady Winters has enough songs about how beautiful she is. Like Christmas snow."

"Milady, I have been remiss." Sat back and had some venison while Winters blushed and beamed her way through the serenade.

Broken up when the Green Knight stomped in.

Violet told the Green Knight that no one was going to cut his head off. Also, the answer to his riddle was, "Women want is to be asked to make their own decisions for themselves." Violet scowled. "Now go away. Kitty was getting serenaded."

The Green Knight left and the singing continued. 


	9. John's POV

The less said about the giant spiders the better. But it did enable John to find the rest of his party, cut them out of the webs where they were trapped, and get out the side of the nasty, evil, horrible, spider forest.

Where Gandalf had faffed off to, John could not remember, but then again that was Gandalf. Deus ex wizard, disappearer extraordinaire.

No sooner did they make it out of the forest, but they were surrounded by a rather gorgeous troop of elves. Gorgeous or not, John had no intention of being captured while he had a ring of invisibility.

So he popped precious on and followed the elves as they blindfolded and took the dwarves to the elven king's dungeon. He'd been a bit hoping that the Elven king would either be Sherlock, or look like Sherlock, or that Sherlock would be captured in the dungeons. No such luck to be had.

The elven king was even more handsome than all the rest. Also a stark raving lunatic. Reminded John a bit of alternative universe Sherlock. 

But at least he had the dwarves fed and given non-cobwebbed clothes.

John investigated rooms until he found the service entrance where supplies were brought into the castle. He waited until the night and picked the fairly simple locks on the prison cells. After that, their escape devolved to a barrel ride on yet another, if warmer, river out of the madtree king's sylvan fortress, while followed by elves riding fourteen point stags and puncturing their barrels with arrows. Fortunately, they made it out of elven lands before the barrels were no longer river worthy.

They heaved themselves up on a wide lake. Oakenshield pointed to a tall mountain on the far side. "There lies Lonely Mountain and my heritage. Now it is time for you to earn your share and carry out your theft, thief."

John stepped away from the very handsy Oakenshield. He wanted to ask if rescuing them several times wasn't enough payment, but the book didn't end with them looking at the mountain and going home.

Another very long climb up a narrow track. Bit of a riddle to figure out how to open the high gate, which was only revealed on a certain day of the year, which happened to be that day. John did not expend sarcasm on that. 

He did put Vili between him and Oakenshield, who normally John would have told to sod off by now and left, but he really did want to get through the rest of this adventure. He was certain if he could just make it to the end, he would find Sherlock.

So more riddling when their first guesses about how it worked were wrong. In the end, it turned out Oakenshield had had the key on a chain around his neck all along. 

John figured it would be something like that.

John went down the passage, ring around his finger, told himself that he was up to a dragon. A great big dragon. Who very much not asleep.

No this was not a sleeping dragon.

This was a dragon rolling around in the gold and talking to himself. 

"Sherlock, is that you?" John took off his ring and stepped out onto the ledge and came face to giant eye of his husband, who might be an enormous red and gold dragon, but his eyes were much the same. If cat eyed. Dragon eyed. "How would that even work?" asked John of no one in particular.


	10. Sherlock's POV

A scent. A perfectly lovely scent.

A perfectly lovely voice.

Sherlock looked at the tiny thing. Not a human. Not a dwarf. Not anything but perfect and now that perfect person was his.

He wrapped a giant claw around the perfect person, because dragons acquire and he was acquiring this person, yes he was. Gold hadn't made him happy. Going back and setting fire to the village hadn't made him happy. Even killing a few goblins. An army of them. Sherlock hadn't counted how many. He'd been hungry so he ate them.

This person would complete him. He knew it. But there were clothes in the way. Horrible clothes that parted under a claw.

"Sherlock, what are you doing? What happened to you."

"I am Sherlock, of immeasurable wealth. The indomitable. The golden. The glorious." He very much hoped for some agreement from his person.

Instead he got, "That is not good. Sherlock you need to...fuuuuck!" Sherlock had slid his long tongue down the perfect person's bare body. His taste was happiness. It was joy. He took another taste. Not for eating. Oh no. Then the perfect person would be gone. Goblins were for gone. Perfect people were for collecting and licking.

"Ngh," said his perfect person, spreading his legs wider. "What happened to you? Do you remember anything?"

Nothing had happened to Sherlock since he'd come to the Lonely Mountain a century or so ago and eaten the dwarves here. He was certain he'd eaten some dwarves. That he was evil and lonely, but magnificent. He wriggle the very tip of his tongue inside the tiny perfect person, which had his tiny perfect person moaning. Such a delicious taste. Darting his tongue in and out. Which triggered all sorts of lovely new scents and tastes in his ever more perfect new acquisition. "You're mine. I own you," he growled holding his little person in the palm of a claw.

"No, I own you," said his perfect person with absolutely no hesitation. After a moment, Sherlock found he quite liked the idea. Quite liked the idea a lot. Liked it so much, he didn't do anything when his tiny person climbed down his belly and over his protective scales. He tried very hard not to thrash when his perfect person coaxed his phallus out from where it was hidden beneath his anterior scales. That his person was smaller than his cock was no matter.

What mattered was the way his person, the one he belonged to, rubbed against that cock. Rubbed his legs around it. Found a pot of oil from somewhere. Somehow. Rubbed all of himself slick with oil around Sherlock's massive cock. Rode the knot that formed at the base as Sherlock jerked with release.

What mattered was that when he came, he understood that this feeling was worth all the gold in the world.

What mattered was they did this again and again as the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Night came and went. Day into night, until all was exhausted sleep. 

When he woke, Sherlock snaked his head to be closer to his person, slumped on his belly, who said, "That may be the most ridiculous sex we've ever had. And that's counting the time you were a brain running a city. Also, I can honestly say that this is the one time I'm pretty sure going into heat didn't get me pregnant. Not even a bit. Although, that thing with your tongue was amazing."

Sherlock almost could remember, almost understand, what his person was saying. Still he needed to hear something. "How do I look?"

His person chuckled. "I probably should be worried, but I think I have an idea. We just need to rework the end of the book a bit."

Sherlock sulked. "But what do you think of me?"

"Magnificent. Beautiful. Amazing."

Sherlock ducked his head briefly under a pile of gold and resisted the urge to roll, which would surely crush his person. He did send a jet of fire into the air. Then he had a horrible thought, but there was no way to hide it. "You need to know something. I am the child of terrible dragons. The great beasts that destroy worlds."

"I know," said his perfect person. "I was there you know. I saw what happens when your parents get to go all out."

Sherlock tried again. "I can do terrible things. Someday, I will the lay the eggs of my kind and they will brood in the terrible bogs of evil and themselves do terrible things."

"So, don't," said his perfect person, as if it were that simple. "Don't do terrible things. Don't brood your eggs in a terrible bog. Don't. You know what, let's make this simple." He jumped down off of Sherlock, which was wrong, terrible, the worst tragedy of its kind. He returned holding a small gold object in one hand. A ring of terrible power. A sparkling gem of all need in the other.

Sherlock before would have wanted them. Needed them. But that was before his perfect person had ridden his cock like an elf riding stag.

"Let's take these off to Mount Doom. Drop them in. Be the hero of the story and not the villain."

Sherlock very much liked the idea of this. He liked it every much. He picked up his person and swarmed back up out of the cavern. He soared past some dwarves who would steal his gold, but what did gold matter. Not when he had his person secure in the palm of a claw.

Some lessor drakes tried to attack them. There was a rain of arrows that couldn’t even reach the clouds under which Sherlock flew. The wizard king attacked him from the back of his puny fire drake.

Sherlock blasted him with fire. The wizard king protected himself with magic. Sherlock grinned and flew into a cloud. Humming. Flying. Twisting up at the last moment. 

The drake and the wizard king smashed into the flat face of a mountain.

Sherlock flew on.

In no time at all, they were circling over Mount Doom and then down into the caldera.

His person, his best and most special being, dropped the ring and the gem into the volcano. They were so tiny, they were gone before Sherlock took a bellows breathe.

For some reason, some eagles appeared, but Sherlock roared, "You're not needed," and he flew his special person back to the special barrow where his person lived. No lonely mountain for him. No. Sherlock was going to burrow in Hobbiton with his special person. He fell asleep coiled around the tree at the top of his person's hill.

When he woke, Sherlock was a human. As was John. As Sherlock supposed, he'd always been.

An elderly humanoid with no scent appeared and said, "I am the automated caretaker for this pleasure world. This holiday planet was created to be used by somewhat more advance beings – so sorry to denigrate your evolutionary status – long ago. Please enjoy the rest of your stay. Please feel free to have a drink at the open bars in the various themed restaurants."

Sherlock had more than a few questions. "How were you able to transform me into a creature many times my mass? How were you able to introduce memories and eliminate others?"

"Sir, landing on this planet was an acceptance of our clearly stated psionic transformation policy and this planet takes no responsibility for how game play interfaces with previously existing brain injuries. If you would like to register a complaint, submit it on the sub-alta psionic channel." He disappeared before Sherlock could say anything else.


	11. John's POV

John was sitting on the hillside with Sherlock tracing a dandelion along his husband's very human, non-scaly arm, thinking. He said, before he could stop himself. "So is all that what you've been worrying about?"

Sherlock looked at him and glanced away at Hobbiton, which was now full of hobbits throwing a party. "It would seem so." He was not looking at John. He was sitting very still.

John bopped his husband's nose with a dandelion flower. "Well, don't. We're doing this and we're going to be as good or bad as anyone else. I've got you and you've got me, yeah."

"Yes," agreed Sherlock.

John was still laughing when Violet rode into Hobbiton on the back of a horse, dressed in light plate armor. Winters was with her in some sort of ridiculous medieval clothes. The rest of the crew trickled in. Followed by, Commodore Lestrade at the head of a rag tag collection of Starfleet personnel.

Lestrade said, "We have got to get off this planet. It'll reset in a few hours and then we'll start the next round of adventures. I spent three weeks trapped in a film noir setting before I finally made it to ancient Rome, which wasn't all that much better."

"Gladiators were nice," said one of the crewmen. At a look from one of his crewmates, he said, "Well, they were. Lot of oil. Abs. This is Sparta, but the sex was not spartan or lactonic at all."

"I keep telling you, we were in Rome, not Greece," said another crewperson.

Their communicators chirped. "Hudson to crew, stay where you are. We're about to do something… risky."

John didn't care to think about the mechanics of being beamed off several mirror arrays. He was a doctor not an engineer, but from the way Sherlock reacted, whatever the Bakerstreet had done had been very risky and fairly impressive.

Sh'Alaack flushed bright blue and calmly accepted Sherlock's praise without a protest. "Yes, it was very impressive." They put out a buoy to warn ships to stay away from the planet.

Afterwards, somehow everyone ended up in the cargo bay of the Bakerstreet drinking truly impressive cocktails and talking about their various adventures on the planet.

Trelane showed up in a velvet smoking jacket. The whole party got even more impressive. Although, he disappeared halfway through John and Hunter tackling a rum drink with the sugar cube burning in the little volcano in the middle.

Which since that was Saturday night, this led to the lazy Sunday afternoon.

Although, John wasn’t entirely certain that Sherlock so much had of a hangover, like the rest of the crew, as that he wanted to snuggle and discuss baby names, which was a bit cart before the horse, but John could allow it.

Although, he needed to talk to Winters about her reading material. He wasn't sure he wanted his children named after medieval star crossed lovers. 

Then he chuckled and kissed his husband to stop his talking with the kisses of his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> When I started posting these in July, I didn't really anticipate I'd still be at it in December. I had thought about pausing at the end of season 6 so I could focus on holiday themed activities (which includes writing stocking stuffers for yuletide), but this seemed like a much better - fluffier at least - place to leave our characters. 
> 
> Because though we are in the end run, there are angsty miles (and plotty parsecs) to go before everything wraps up in 4 (well, really 3, because the 4th is dessert) stories.
> 
> Happy holidays. I'll probably resume posting after Christmas.


End file.
